Brazilian Express
by Manoella Nascimento
Summary: (Super Junior) Alice had come to Korea to dance, not to become tangled with a famous pop star, unable to do the proper sexy look. Now, she needs to find a way to overcome major cultural differences, run-off-the mill crazed ELFS, her cracked cousin, her easily angered/Korean-obsessed brother, his traditional parents to finally marry the Korean man of her father dreams.
1. That Blasted Fan Dance

Alice had come to Korea to dance (at least in her point of view), not to become tangled with a famous pop star, unable to do the proper sexy look. Now, she needs to find a way to overcome major cultural differences, run-off-the mill crazed ELFS, her cracked cousin, her easily angered/Korean-obsessed brother, his traditional parents to finally marry the Korean man of her father dreams (which was the reason she had been dispatched to Korea in the first place, anyways) and (of course) to protect her precious pumps.

* * *

He's crazy.

My father is completely, without a doubt, totally deranged.

Which father in their RIGHT MIND would send his daughter to Korea to CATCH HERSELF A HUSBAND?

I mean, even if we could ignore the fact that I do have a life here in Brazil (well, sort of, if you count spending most of your day at home studying for the BAR exams as having a life) how does one goes about catching herself a husband anyway?

Should I just go stand in the middle of a busy street in Seoul, throw away a handkerchief and marry the first gentleman who picks it up instead of stepping on it?

I don't even own a handkerchief!

Dad is still staring at me, wriggling his eyebrows. He probably was expecting another reaction – I'm almost tempted to climb the dinner table and do some dance steps in pretend joy just to appease him, but I'm still too shocked to do anything else but stay there with my jaw slacked.

Yep, it isn't a pretty picture.

I desperately look around the table. My mother is calmly eating her roast pork, piling the rice in the left side of the plate. She is acting pretty normal for someone who just heard her only daughter is being sent to Korean to marry some unknown man.

I raise my eyebrows suspiciously at her. She still refuses to look at me. She is putting the sauce in the meat. I notice her hands are shaking a bit. She is hiding something. I have my lip biting, and she has her shaking members. It happens all the time when we are feeling a bit panicky.

Oh my God.

_She knew_. My own mother knew about father's senseless scheme and wasn't doing anything to stop his madness! I have been betrayed.

By my mother, no less.

That is the kind of pathetic woman I am, one that not only is:

Being dispatched to Korea because I can't get a Brazilian husband;

But one who is also,

Being betrayed by her mother who _knew _about it and chose not to tell her about this significant change to her life.

I keep on with my glaring, but she still is not looking at me.

Really, mom? You are in the cracked plan to ruin my life and you can't even look at me? Smooth, mom. Real smooth. See if I will give you sponge baths when you are too old to remember that you need to rinse the shampoo twice!

I continue to scowl at the rest of my loving family. If my mother knew, my brothers must have known as well. I'm always the last one to know anything in this house, even when – like in this case – it is about a potentially big change on my life!

Traitors.

Okay. We might not be all that close, but this is just shitty.

Very shitty.

I will never speak to any of them again in my entire life!

And I will throw out the freaking video game that I was saving to give Ricardo for his birthday. See if I don't give it to our neighbor, that gross kid who is always picking his nose – Ha! Think if that, dear brother, when he is saving Zelda and you are here dreaming about skipping around wearing that ugly green outfit. See if I care.

Humpf.

It will serve you right. If I had had the time to buy presents for my other brother I wouldn't give him either, but since I haven't had time and/or money for such endeavors I will just have to think of a plan to complete my total revenge…

I had the perfect strategy planned on my head (it involved spending all the hot water _and_ spilling salt on their food for a week), when Miguel sprung suddenly from his chair at the other end of the table, pointing a finger to my father.

"What the fuck is this?"

Okay, maybe _he_ didn't know.

I still have my suspicions about Ricardo, but Miguel can have his gift - I mean, when I save enough money to buy one.

I'm so glad that someone is standing up for me in this family that I almost clap. But then he keeps talking, "You know I always wanted to go! What is so special about her that she gets to go?"

Gee, thanks dear older brother. I'm so glad to see that you care for me this much. I open my mouth to say exactly what I think about what he is saying (_Come on_! I agree that I shouldn't go to Korea, but do you really need to say that I am such a worthless creature?), but then I notice that he is quite red.

Uh-oh.

We are very close to dealing with Miguel's full-blown rage here.

It is a very dangerous thing.

I see Ricardo grabbing the knives and any other utensils that can do permanent damage, and try to catch his eye and inconspicuously point to the door with my head – all thoughts of my anger forgotten on the face of Miguel's bigger and much more dangerous one (even if Ricardo ignores the clause that sibling must stick together, I don't, at least not on this dire circumstances), when mother clears her throat.

And just like that, Miguel deflates like magic.

One day I want to be just like my mother. So cool.

I mean, not about the conscious decision of betraying my child and sending her alone to Korea to marry some unknown man that is acceptable to my husband just because he does have an epicanthal fold, but yeah.

(By the way, father, I do have an epicanthal fold, too. It is plenty enough for me. I will make certain to pass along to your grandchildren - pinky swear. We will still keep the beautiful epicanthal fold on our family _even_ if I don't marry a Korean male.)

When my father was certain Miguel was calm – well, as calm as he was going to get – he kept talking while smiling at me, "Yes, Alice. Korea. I know you always wanted to go and wouldn't this be just a perfect opportunity to meet someone?"

Oh, dad. Dear, delusional dad. Where does he come up with stuff like this?

Me _wanting_ to go to Korea?

Spending _25 hours_ on an airplane?

I'm afraid of flying, dad.

"Dad, I never really thought about going to Korea. And you know I'm afraid of airplanes." I chose to leave the part about not wanting a husband out for now. With my dad you had to pick your arguments on a certain order, the most important for last.

"Nonsense, you were never scared of flying. Don't try to make stuff up now, Alice."

Make stuff up?

I thought we had established my extreme dislike of flying that time when I was a child and we went to Disney, dad.

Remember how I refused to sit on my spot on the plane and you had to hold me for eight hours straight while I cried like a banshee, until finally the woman on the other seat offered you an anxiety drug to put on my bottle and you mumbled 'Lady, don't tempt me'?

Does this memory rings any bells for you?

"What exactly I'm supposed to do in Korea? How I'm going to support myself?" Ha! Come up with a solution to that, dad.

He flapped his hands around as if the matter of my survival wasn't such a big deal, "I talked to your uncle Jae Haa and he is very happy to receive you in his home _and_ your aunt was very excited to have you work on the dance school she manages."

How long exactly has my father been planning this?

And, wasn't aunt's Se Na dance school for elderly people? Did my dad expect me to teach the salsa to a bunch of old woman? I start to imagine trying to teach octogenarians to do the booty circle – I give myself the shivers.

Did anyone considered that?

I was opening my mouth to make that point, when my mother quickly cut in, "Of course you are going to teach something other than the Latin rhythms."

_Of course_.

I'm sorry for thinking that I would be actually be able to teach the style of dance that I had a diploma in, how silly of me. Now, even If I stuck with tap dance or whatever, how was that supposed to work?

"And the BAR exam?" I asked triumphantly. Mom and dad were the ones that wanted me to graduate from Law School so that I could keep on living the way I'm used to (let's be real, dance teachers don't make all that much money in Brazil), so they would never let me go gallivanting around the world instead of staying home studying like the dutiful student that I am (sometimes).

At that my father appeared conflicted as I knew he would.

Education was something very important for him.

Once he sent me to school with a raging fever. I felt so bad that the school's nurse had to take me to the hospital, where I was scolded by the doctor, who said that I should have stayed home resting. When I finally got home, heavily dazed by the medicines, and told my father what had happened, he simply said 'Yes, it is unfortunate. But how could you have known that you would be feeling so bad if you hadn't gone? School is not something you can miss whenever you want'.

My mother said it was because he was Korean. Everything with my father could be summed up in this one sentence, 'I know it is different from how we do things in Brazil, Alice, but give your father a break, darling, he is Korean, after all'.

(_Look where all the breaks I gave my father over the years led me to_.)

To my surprise it was my mom who answered, "It is a good thing to take a time to oneself sometimes. Besides, it will be your third try, maybe this period will help you to relax to the BAR exams next year."

Great, mom.

Now, not only you are ruining my life but are also reminding me that I am a failure at the study of Law in just one sentence. Forget what I said about wanting to be like you.

My father was nodding wholeheartedly, "Exactly, Alice. You will recharge and it will be wonderful for you to learn a little more about Korean culture, after all is your culture, too."

Miguel snapped his head and was preparing to shout again, but my mother glared at him and he went back to sulking.

Poor Miguel. He was the one that always wanted to go to Korea.

That boy loved everything about Asian culture, from their music to their food – he even drank that terrible seaweed soup that dad insisted on making on our birthdays, while the rest of us just spilled it down the kitchen drain when his back was turned.

He was the one who went gladly to our Korean classes, while Ricardo and I had to be dragged there by our desperate nanny and he is the only one of us who can actually claim to speak Korean fluently.

(My Korean is somewhere between I-can-ask-for-a-glass-of-water-but-I'm-lost-when-i t-cames-to-actual-food and I-can't-read-those-damn-symbols.)

So it was no surprise that he was mad that I get to go to Korea and he didn't. I nearly suggested that before marrying me, dad should send Miguel to catch himself a Korean bride – which, to be frank, I thought he would do pretty happily. And maybe afterwards he could send Ricardo (who is only fifteen so I figure that would buy me some time) and_ then _I might be ready to go myself.

"Now, since everyone is done, I'm hoping you boys could do the dishes while I have a little talk with Alice", mom said while looking pointedly at Miguel and Ricardo. The latter left the table promptly whistling the theme song from The Big Bang Theory (he is such a nerd!), while Miguel went very slowly, staring first at mother, than at me, before finally walking away angrily to the kitchen.

My father winked at me and joined my brothers, his arms full of dirty dishes, while mom changed seats so that she could sit at my side and hold my hand.

Oh, joy.

Now we get to have a heart to heart _after _she betrayed me on the worst way ever. Well, I would not open my mouth. No sir, let her talk her ears off by herself. Then I would argue like the mature adult that I was, displaying all the arguments that showed how it was a terrible idea for me to go to Korea (really, there were a lot of them) and she would take me seriously.

Naturally, my steadfastness lasted for about two minutes – she looked at me with her huge, sparkling hazel eyes and I cracked.

"Why?" And to my horror I could feel the prickling of tears beneath my eyelids. Do I have to cry now? What had happened to my mature-side?

I hate PMS.

My mom sighs and tweaks my nose, which is so surprising that I am actually able to control my almost-crying fit, "I did it for you, dummy. I know the hard time you have had with the BAR exam, well with Law ."

She isn't lying there.

It wasn't that I didn't like to study Law – I find it interesting sometimes. It is just… It is not my passion, no matter how much my mom and dad (and most times me too) wish it was.

I like dancing – no, not like – I adore dancing. Especially the Latin dances. It is just my luck that what I really love to do it is not enough to allow me to make a decent chunk of money to live the way I would like.

So when faced with the sad reality of that fact, I followed my mother steps and went to Law School. It was a lot of work – there were times I actually thought that I would not graduate, mainly because I had not given up on my dancing – but in the end I did.

Now, the only thing I'm lacking is to pass on the BAR exam and truly became a lawyer, again not my first choice in what I would like to be doing, but not my last either (and that had to count for something).

_But the BAR exam is hard._

I tried twice already unsuccessfully and I swear that my brain is ready to burst. I don't think I can store any more knowledge in there – it will explode for sure.

So, yes, maybe a break is not such a bad idea, but does it need to be in Korea?

_And where does a husband fit in this scenario_?

"But why Korea? And why a Korean husband, mom? Surely I can take a break right here at home."

"Alice, your father is… well, Korean." Mom shrugged (as if after all of these years I hadn't noticed). "If I had suggested that you take a break, that wouldn't go well with him. But – almost by miracle – he had this idea of sending you to Korea after seeing you doing the fan dance…"

"The fan dance?" I interrupted her abruptly, while trying to grasp this ridiculous logic. She gave me a little glare, but nodded. "So you are saying that dad thought I should marry a Korean man because I learned to dance the fan dance that granny used to do?"

This was the most _preposterous_ thing I have ever heard.

So just because my grandmother (who I had never even met) danced the freaking thing on every festival at her tiny Korean village and I had attempted to do it because dad was always remembering and getting sentimental about it, I had to marry a Korean man?

If I had known then that the dance would get me in so much trouble I would never have attempted it. I would have shown my appreciation to my father in a different way, maybe with a very nice homemade card.

But no, I had had the brilliant idea to learn the real fan dance and had acquired a huge headache, because not only I disliked that dance with a passion, I:

Am not even good at the freaking dance! On the YouTube videos, the women look like water nymphs, they are so calm and graceful – and I have a very difficult time trying _not _to shake my booty (too long dancing Latin rhythms does that to a person), and let me tell you: booty shaking has no place on the fan dance.

I – to my eternal shame – had to practice, not one, not two, not three, but _four months _before I could show to my family that blasted dance, and even then I'm pretty sure I screwed it badly. I mean, you are not supposed to drop the fan in the middle of the dance, for Christ's sake!

Granny's faded old hanbok didn't fit me, so after having developed a severe case of allergies (it had been kept on a box for God knew how long) I had to spend fifty bucks so a tailor could properly adjust the thing to fit my boobs (Granny didn't have breasts! How she breastfed dad and uncle Jae Haa I will never know) and fifty more to send it to the dry cleaner!

So not only that terrible dance wasted four months of my life and made me one hundred reais shorter but it was the reason my father had decided that I would make a very proper Korean daughter-in-law and should not be wasted on a Brazilian male!

I think I growled a little, but mom was quick to hush me. That woman does know how to nip tantrums at the bud, no one can deny, "As I was saying, after you father came with that idea it occurred to me that he had a point. No, don't look at me like that. Not about the wedding, dear – but about taking a break. You could relax, meet another country _and_ spend some time doing what you love. What more can we ask?"

It did make sense when she put like that. But I needed to be sure, "So, I don't really need to marry a Korean man, right?"

She laughed. She actually laughed!

"Of course not! Just don't tell your father that. He is Korean and has strange notions, so let's just pretend for his benefice. You go, have a marvelous time and if you find a Korean man worth your while, why not date him? But mainly relax, my baby."

Did I mention how much I love my mom?

She is the most amazing and caring person in this entire world – probably the smartest, too. I just love how she deals with my dad – one tiny lie and everyone is happy.

Really, going to Korea is not so bad. Is like mom said, I will be taking a break, travelling to new places and _dancing _(hopefully at some other place than aunt's Se Na dance school)! What more could I ask, as she so intelligently put?

"How about the plane ride? You know I'm afraid of planes."

"I can't do much about that." Mom said shaking her head. "But we can go to a doctor and ask him to prescribe you a bottle of something. Now it is your choice, Alice. Do you want to go?"

YES! How could I not – just thinking about not having to look at those awful Law books again I would go anywhere, it is just a shame that it takes _25 hours to get there on a plane._

"Maybe we can ask him to give me two bottles of that something?"

Mom laughed again but I was quite serious. If was going to go on an airplane alone, I better be heavily drugged - hopefully high on something that would allow me to sleep during the complete journey.

Then another thought entered my head.

"And the boys?"

"Well, Ricardo won't mind at all, Alice. He only cares about his video games and his new girlfriend, I bet that even if we offered he would have declined." But we both knew that Ricardo was not the problem in this equation. "And Miguel… Miguel has to wait his turn. A ticket to Korea is anything but cheap."

Now I was guilty. Miguel should go instead of me. Forget my break – poor Miguel has probably been dreaming about this since the first time we learned that 'appa' meant father and ran home screaming it at the top of our lungs to make dad a surprise just to discovered that father was laying down with a terrible headache – and that our neighbor didn't appreciate having three screaming kids near his house.

"Maybe you should send Miguel first. I could wait and he would be happy."

Mom smiled and hugged me, "You are a good sister to both of them. Don't worry about your brother. Your father and I are saving money for his ticket too, I just think you should go first. Besides, he can't possibly drop his medical residency now. By the time he finishes we will have all the cash we need and then he can go too. It is just seven more months. He can wait."

And that was that.

Later that month I was heavily packed and heavily drugged on prescribed medicine (just like I wished) and sleeping while my airplane was flying to distant Korea.

If knew that in last than 30 hours I would be in a police station while the prisoners got a good look at my underwear (and not even my sexy and adult one, but the pink one with the unicorns!) I would have definitely asked Dr. José for more drugs.

* * *

Please, being this is my first published story here, I would love to know what you guys think. I will be waiting for your reviews. ^^

This story is also published in AsianFanfics, where my pen name is Dramageek.


	2. The Red Louboutin

** 23 hours later**

I WON'T PANIC. Whatever I do, I won't panic. I WON'T panic.

Maybe if I keep saying that a hundred times more I will actually start listening to myself and release the armrest of my airplane seat – I'm pretty sure the man who is sitting next to me wants to rest his arm (is not like he is being subtle about it, he is shooting me this strange looks while mumbling 'tsk tsk' at my direction).

I mean, airplanes are a very safe form of transportation. Some affirm it is the safest. And I'm certain that I heard somewhere that the real odds of being in a plane crash it is one in nineteen million per person.

So, clearly this plan _won't_ crash.

No, no. It will land safe and sound in Seoul with all its parts and all the passengers and all the baggage, specially my two suitcases – mainly the one that is filled to the brim with my shoes. If the plane did crash (_which it won't_) I would have to find a way to get to them.

No way would I let my little darling shoes be destroyed.

But since this plane is in ideal working order – I know this because I asked the company employee at my check in _and _the flight attendant just to be sure – it won't crash, so my precious shoes will be perfectly safe.

But maybe I should hold onto my most cherished ones. Mainly my red Louboutin pumps. I need those. I live for those shoes. No way after saving for one year to buy it (actually now that I think about it, that was the reason that I wasn't able to buy Miguel's gift, but then after the stunt he pulled he didn't deserve it anyway, so I shouldn't feel guilty) can they get lost on a plane crash.

Hum.

I wonder if there is a way to sneak to the place they keep the luggage on and look for them. If I can just get through my good friend the flight attendant it might be possible.

I turn my head from side to side trying to spot her. She is giving a pillow to a disgruntled kid near the front door of the plane. And she is _not _looking my way.

Lucky.

Now if I can just go to the back of the plane unnoticed everything is going to be fine. I'm sure there is a door to the luggage area there somewhere.

I release the arm rest. The man at my side is so happy he lunges for it and put his big fat limb on it. I don't think that I will be able to rest my arm again for the remaining period of this trip. Oh, well I had it for the last 23 hours – he can have it for the next two.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and I'm almost up when I feel the entire plane dip to one side.

Oh. My. God.

Did the plane just turned _sideways_?

It did. It totally did.

I can't believe that I'm that one person in nineteen million who will be in a plane crash. I have such rotten luck. I don't even care that my seat neighbor is using the armrest. I grab it strongly. I might even have hurt his arm. He winces.

I worry for a moment about it and then decide that I have more important things to concern myself with at this time - but promise to make certain to apologize later, _if I'm still alive._

That is it. I will die here at a place so far away from Brazil and still two hours from Korea. In this terrible piece of metal that has no business being so far from the ground.

At least dad will know that I died while searching for his flawless Korean son-in-law (sort of).

And my poor Louboutin and all my other shoes will be ruined in a mountain of fire and devastation. Such a waste. I never even wore them. My eyes are prickling with tears.

Do I even have time to write a letter to my parents? How will they know about my last moments on this Earth? I contemplate the thought of searching my purse for pen and paper, or even my cellphone, but if I let go of the armrest I will scream.

_Poor __Louboutin__._

_Poor me._

I will die and never dance again. Never have any children. Never…

Oh, it is my pal the flight attendant. She is inquiring about what the man at my side needs her for. He nods his head at me and frowns. She gathers the situation in a quick look and throws a strained smile at me. I can see she is preparing to tell me off.

_Really?_

You called her so you could complain about me? What are you, two years old? Couldn't we solve this little armrest problem between ourselves? How could you attach yourself to such a petty matter when we are on our way to total annihilation?

I glare at him, but he is too busy staring out at the window.

Coward.

My dear flight attendant buddy clears her throat, "Mam, there is no need to be alarmed. As I already told you twice this airplane won't crash. All its machinery is in perfect working order." She smiles at me and gently pries my clutching fingers from my neighbor's jacket.

I had not noticed that I was grabbing onto that. He massages his arm.

Oh, that is why he was so mad.

Now I am totally ashamed. I can feel my face redden. I give a weak smile to her and to the man, but he barely glances at me.

"Now", she clucks just like a kindergarten teacher, "why don't you take some medicine? We have some for situations like this. It will make you feel better."

I am completely red now. She thinks I am crazy. The poor man probably thinks so too. I guess now is not a good time to mention my concerns about the safety of my Louboutin.

"No, I have medicine of my own." I say smiling at her and at the man, trying to show that I definitely am not cracked on the head.

She grins while motioning for me to get it. I consider explaining to her that I already took some a couple hours ago, and who knows what will happen if I take another dose so soon, but between her beaming countenance and the reproachful stare of my neighbor, I feel trapped.

So I take the medicine.

She thanks me and goes on her merry way. My neighbor ignores me, but refuses to give up his ownership of the armrest. I buckle my seatbelt once more and try to sleep. I'm feeling very, very calm.

I wonder if I will suffer from any side effects from taking two doses of the anxiety drug.

Oh, well.

At least I will go straight to uncle's home from the airport, so really, in how much trouble could I possibly get?

* * *

Where is she?

I'm absolutely positive that her message said for me to wait her on the south exit of the airport with my luggage. So here I am with my two huge suitcases standing on the sidewalk and guess what?

She isn't here_ and _she isn't answering her phone.

Dad was so wrong about Korean people always being polite.

I almost want to shake my finger at him and smirk, 'See, if it was in Brazil and someone from another country was coming for the first time we would be there at least two hours earlier so she wouldn't be by herself even for a minute! But no, this is Korea, so my cousin thinks it is all right to let me standing here alone for 40 minutes on the freezing cold!'

Okay, so maybe is not _that _cold. I am trembling for sure, but everyone else is wearing tank tops and short skirts. I suppose you can't really compare what I-raised-in-the-Amazon-Region understand as cold weather to what these people think about it.

But it has been _40 minutes_.

My feet are killing me.

As soon as we landed I took my red Louboutin from my suitcase and slipped them in. I wasn't going to die without ever wearing them. Of course I didn't know _then_ that I would be forced to stand for over thirty minutes on these blasted high heels.

So this is what my life has come to – staying in a sidewalk while waiting for a no-show cousin, drained from a 25 hour flight _and _two doses of medicine with two enormous bags and wearing red pumps that would be better suited to a gala party. People are looking at me funny, although that may be because I keep shifting my weight from foot to foot and huffing every five minutes.

I might need more drugs.

I will kill her! I know it is not good manners to murder the daughter of the people who offered to take you in, but I will just wring her little neck and have the deed done with.

Humpf.

Maybe I should just go to her house. I mean I do have the address and I'm guessing that my Korean is not that bad. I'm certain I will manage to get in a taxi or bus and find her home.

Sort of.

Who am I kidding? My Korean is crap. She has forgotten about me and now I will be forced to stand on this sidewalk forever in these freaking shoes. I will probably lose my legs from the pain. I will have to be in a wheelchair and, let's face it, finding a husband then won't be nearly as easy, be him Brazilian or Korean.

I'm lost, I'm completely and utterly…

Oh, wait. There is she.

_Finally._

I gather my belongings while she is running in my direction. Jae In is just like her pictures. Long legs and even longer hair, some freckles (I didn't even know Asian people could have freckles) and a somewhat large nose for her face. Strangely she is wearing only blue, from her tiara to her shoes – which is kind of weird, but then I'm wearing gala shoes at nine o'clock in the morning, so who am I to judge?

I'm sucking air, getting ready for giving her the scolding of lifetime but I don't have time. She grabs my hand and one of my bags and starts to run back the way she came. I'm forced to seize my other bag and run next to her.

I try to tell her that I have high heels on so I really could not be expected to run anywhere, when she begins speaking loudly between puffs, "I'm so sorry for being late! But you will understand when I tell you why. I received the most brilliant news."

She stops so suddenly to smile at me that I nearly trip. I clutch her for balance – these shoes were definitely not made for running!

"Really it was such amazing news! So, I was coming over, truly I was, when Bo Ra sent me this message that they were very nearby and begging me to get her. So I had to go, of course I had, she has been my best friend since, like, forever and I would not go to see them by myself and keep her out of it. Don't you think that I did the absolutely right thing, Hyosung?"

I blink at her.

What is she talking about? I can't understand a thing!

_I knew my Korean was crap_.

I try to think of something to answer and then just decide that I will rebuke her now when she grabs me and throws me in a cab. I hadn't even noticed that while she was spurting nonsense without breathing the taxi driver had put my bags on the car and was ushering us to the back seat.

Jae In pushes me in and closes the door. It is a pity that I trip and end up on another girl's lap.

"Oh my God, what are you doing?" Jae In laughs at me and helps me sit straight. "This is Bo Ra, the friend I was talking about. Bo Ra this is my Brazilian cousin Alice, but you can call her Hyosung. Isn't she just like I described her?"

"She is! You are so pretty, Hyosung. When you sat at my lap I could tell you have a large rack! I'm so envious! I wish I had boobs like yours!" Bo Ra pushes her breast out and joins Jae In in giggling like a bunch of flustered hens.

_They are crazy_.

I have to get out of here. Forget the luggage, I have my Louboutins on. The rest of my shoes will have to become sad casualties of my run in with my disturbed cousin.

Without her noticing I try to go past Jae In to get to the door, but she is blocking it thoroughly. I may have to go through Bo Ra. At least I know she has smaller boobs than I. At these circumstances I will get any advantage that I can.

Bloody hell. The car is moving. There is no way for me to escape. I'm stuck with Crazy One and Crazy Two. What I'm supposed to do? They are still chatting loudly and non-stop. I might have to…

Wait.

Isn't the car going a bit too fast? This is _not_ normal. I'm jammed into the seat while people on the street run for their lives. I'm wary to interrupt Jae In, who is now jumping on her seat with Bo Ra and singing some weird song that uses the word 'sorry' an absurd amount of times, but I can't control myself.

"Isn't the car going a bit fast?" I scream to be heard over their ruckus, but Jae In doesn't seem to understand my sense of urgency, since she keeps singing louder now, probably to block my shouts. "Jae In, tell the driver to go slower!"

Jae In looks at me as if _I _had lost my marbles.

"He can't go slower. We will never be able to get to them in time if we go slower! Besides we are almost there! See that building? They are having a photo shoot in there right now!" she quips and points to a big building all made of glass.

Bo Ra agrees quickly with her head, "And I have on good authority that is a swimsuit shoot!"

Jae In and Bo Ra scream to high heavens.

"Stop, please stop." I use my hands to shut their mouths while I try to understand what they just said. I'm beginning to think that is not my Korean that is bad, is just that they are talking shit. "Who are they? Who are you guys so anxious to see?"

I have to endure some more screaming before Jae In gives me a response, "The Super Junior, of course."

_The Super who? _

"Who?" I ask because they can't really expect for that to make any kind of sense to me.

They look at me as if I am an alien. A dumb alien at that. Even the taxi driver is looking at me funny. Okay, now I'm getting pissed. Who are the Super-something?

Perhaps Jae In sees something in my eye, because she starts talking while the taxi slows. We are approaching the building. "They are just the BEST band ever! You will love them! Just love them, really there is no one that could _not _love them! And you kind of _have _to since it would be a total disgrace if the cousin of their Seoul fan club's vice president didn't!"

She keeps her babbling while Bo Ra gives her input from time to time but I have stopped listening.

_A BAND?_

All of this because of a BAND?

What the Fuck?

Now I am mad. I'm extremely mad. I may just rip all of Jae In and Bo Ra's hair from their pretty empty heads. How can they do this to me? HOW?

I'm dangerous. I'm on very strong medication and I'm sure that not one jury in this world would condemn me at a court of Law. I'm sorely tempted to crash their heads with my Louboutin (at this point I'm even considering ruining them if it would shut them up and avenge my anger) when the taxi stops.

Apparently we arrived to the Oh-so-important place where the Super-something-or-other are having their shoot in swim wear. I hope they drown. I look out at the window. If I thought only my cousin was crazy enough to actually follow her favorite band to their shooting I was mistaken.

There are about twenty girls, all dressed in blue, screaming on the entrance of the building. Some bodyguards are trying to keep them out, but they seem more scared of the girls than the other way around.

_Crazy Koreans._

If I wasn't drugged, tired and in pain I would have laughed. But as I am now, I am very, very pissed. I turn to Jae In to let her know exactly what I think about her mad notion that I would be happy to yell with a bunch of crazy girls at a band that I never heard of, but again I was too late.

Damn these girls are fast.

They left me here _with the cab driver_. Does Jae In expect me to pay? Will I have to spend my hard-earned money in her stupid quest? But to my surprise the cab driver informs me that he has an arrangement with Jae In so I should just take my bags and wait for her.

And I found myself in the middle of the sidewalk – again – with two huge suitcases – again – and wearing my Louboutin, again. At least now I know that I am not utterly lost.

There is a small coffee shop in front of me, so I pull my heavy bags and, almost tripping, start to walk in its direction.

I feel a little dizzy.

It might be all the drugs on my system.

I'm actually quite glad I'm not my normal self – God knows what I would have done to Jae In and Bo Ra if I hadn't taken that second dose of medicine. And then _how _would I get to Uncle Jae Haa's home?

So maybe it is for the best.

I get in the coffee shop and see that is quite crowded for such a tiny place at ten o'clock in the morning. For some reason there are mostly men here. When I come in all of them immediately snap their heads and stare at me. They scrutinize my clothes and then seem to decide I'm not that important and go back to their coffees.

Creepy.

I walk in the direction of a table near the door, dragging my bags until I finally drop myself on a chair. I grab the menu and try to read it when I realize that my Korean is so crappy that I can't understand a word that it says.

_Great_.

Now I will have to walk to the cashier and ask him to read the freaking menu out loud to me so that I can have a clue what kind of drinks this place sells. My feet are hurting so much I'm reconsidering my need for caffeine.

With a sigh I drop the menu and look around the place, stalling until my legs don't feel like they are being slowly _amputated_. There is nothing interesting to look at, just the absurd amount of guys close together and whispering to each other.

They are weird.

They are dressed all in black, with hoods and dark glasses and keep shutting suspicious glances at the coffee shop entrance door… Is almost as if they don't want to be recognized and are afraid of people who may enter this place…

Hold on just a minute.

Nine men, all dressed in dark colors, trying to become unrecognizable, worried about whom comes through the door…

_Fuck me sideways_.

Robbers.

They have to be - there is no other explanation. It makes sense now why they acted so odd when I came in; they were worried that it could be the police! They are probably the Yakuza!

(Okay, maybe the yakuza live in Japan, but is this the moment to nitpick?)

The Korean-like-Yakuza is in the same coffee shop as me, clearly planning their next criminal movement (otherwise what they would be whispering about with so much concentration?) and there is no one to stop them.

The cashier – really the only person who would be able to help me - is looking mighty bored on his stall. I try desperately to catch his eye but he keeps playing with his cellphone.

I'm shaking.

Oh God, I survived the airplane ride just to die in a stingy coffee shop, with a geek cashier who is more concerned with his little game them with the very suspicious looking men sitting at his left!

They will kill me! And there are so many ways to do it, too (anyone who watched Saw can attest to that).

(It occurs to me that it wasn't such a good idea watching all these horror movies during my lifetime, but who would have thought that one day I would be the girl that the scary people would cut to pieces?)

I think I might faint.

With a deep breath I regain some control. I can't faint! God knows what they would do to me if I did. I have to save myself – the cashier certainly won't to do it. I will probably even have to save him, too!

Okay, I need a plan ASAP.

They are obviously distracted. I will use it on my favor. I will slowly stand up and walk out of here. When I am outside I will look for the nearest police officer and ask for help. Yes, that is exactly what I'm going to do.

I look sadly at my bags. It is quite possible that all my shoes will be lost after this. Well, they had a good run. And my Louboutin are safe and sound in my feet.

I stand up and sneak a quick glance at the creepy guys' table. They haven't noticed me.

Good.

As I slowly walk backwards to the door – they didn't seem all that interested in me when I came in, but there is no way I will give them a reason to be now by running like a mad chicken – I realize that two of them are missing.

There were nine of them in that table, now there are seven.

_Where_ did they go?

I urgently look for them around the coffee shop. They are nowhere in sight. They probably went to find some more backups – although nine men seem more than enough to rob a small coffee shop as this. But what do I know? Maybe the cashier is a secret ninja or something.

Or maybe there is something really special about this place… Possibly this entire coffee shop is a drug selling point.

If that is true, I'm so dead.

It's time to run.

I turn my body in the direction of the door and start to make a run for it, but I didn't count on:

My feet hurting _so much_! Truthfully, in my hour of need I had quite forgotten about the unlimited agony in my legs;

Finally founding out _where_ one of the missing robbers had gone. He was right at my back, having deciding for some unexplainable reason that he would like a can of coke before their evil master plan could come to fruition;

And lastly,

Tripping directly in the strong arms of the robber, who dropped his coke all over my shirt and appeared to be quite startled at my sudden appearance in his embrace.

OMG.

He is holding me quite tight, which is good because I would probably fall otherwise. I notice is tall for an Asian and quite muscled. His hug is to die for. He has quite robbed of my breath.

We blink at each other for a moment. Both too much in shock to do something about our current position – me because of my crippling pain (okay, I might have melted a little in his arms as well) and him because… To say the truth, I don't really know why he is not moving.

Not that I'm complaining. I mean how many times can one person find herself in the arms of such a man? I might as well enjoy it while I can.

And it is just what I'm doing when a ruckus at my back makes me open my eyes in a snap (I hadn't even realized I had closed them). It is the other men, who are now laughing at us and making fun of my strong-muscled-tall-hot-robber.

At their uproar it all comes back to me in a flash.

The robbers.

My plan of slipping away unnoticed to ask for help.

(That part of the plan has obviously gone terribly wrong.)

And I notice something else. The hand of Mr. Robber is at my left breast. He follows my eyes and quickly moves his hand away, but it is too late.

Screw my plan. The part where they take advantage of my body to then cut into pieces has begun - it is a good time to scream.

So that is precisely what I do.

"HELP!", really I'm quite proud of myself. I don't think I ever shrieked that loud in all my life, "POLICE! THERE ARE THIEFS HERE! AND ONE OF THEM IS A PERV! HELP!"

He drops me and I fall on the floor but keep on yelling. Sooner or later the crazy fans and the bodyguards on the other side of the street are bound to notice the noise. The hot thief is trying to shush me while throwing concerned glances at the others, who are all in a circle around me, quite at lost about what to do.

The other missing robber comes running through a door, holding his pants up and looking frantic. He was probably taking his pants off to take advantage of me later on. I scream even louder. Did they really think I would go down without a fight?

I'm very dizzy now - all this yelling is not helping with my drug issue. But I can't worry about this at this moment. I have to keep it going until someone notices it.

_Thank heaven. _

The blue-deranged girls spotted us. They are pointing at us, screaming and running in our direction. The evil men seem properly scared of them, too. They should be. The girls are probably calling the police right about now.

I give a satisfied last scream, but not one of them is looking at me. They are all staring at the gaggle of girls running like mad, coming their way.

They appear terrified.

_Good_.

I try to sneak out through their legs but the dizziness attacks again.

I manage to crawl some inches before I admit to myself that I may have to use drastic measures to get out of their middle, especially since I'm kind of sick at this moment.

While they are distracted I twist and grab one of my Louboutin. I kiss it goodbye and struck its heel on one of the robbers. Unfortunately it hits the leg of the hot one. It is a shame to ruin such calves, but I am not in a situation that allows me to be choosy.

He swears and grasps his leg while glaring at me.

Uh-oh.

It might not have been my best idea because now they are all looking at me again. The pantless one seems really angry.

It is right at this moment that my vision stars fading and I faint.

But that is okay.

I'm hearing _a lot _of yelling.

The mad girls are here and they will save me from these Yakusa-wannabes.


End file.
